


Dropping the Ball

by TheMulletWhisperer



Series: Regulations be Damned [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bouncy Ball, F/M, Fluff, Here's another tag, I'm bad at tags, Prison, Thalmor, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galina finds herself in a tight spot at Northwatch Keep, with only a rubber bouncy ball to keep her sane. </p><p>But what happens when a new prison guard takes a liking to the fair Nordic wanderer? And more specifically, her ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thump

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Imdex for inspiring this piece. There's a chance I'll continue this, if I'm struck by the need to write again. No promises, though.

_ Thump -- Thump _

 

The sounds echoed through the cold stone hallways of Northwatch Keep, causing a stir among every ragged prisoner trying to catch even the smallest wink of sleep before being dragged back to the interrogator. 

 

None dared speak up, though. The Thalmor didn’t tolerate chatter among their prisoners. It was a shock in an of itself that the soldier on duty hadn’t kicked the cell in and beaten the woman to death with her own little toy. 

 

However, with each pass of footfalls on the cobblestone, there was a lengthy pause outside of the fresh meat’s cell, as if  _ something _ had the guard interested. Reality evidently returned to the mer, though, and the footsteps resumed their monotonous rhythm, accompanied only by the screams of whatever poor soul fell victim to the interrogator--and that  _ thump, thump, thump _ , which never seemed to end.

 

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

 

_ Thump -- Thump _

 

Galina watched the small, rubber ball bounce from mossy wall, to filthy floor, and back to her wrapped hand, only to repeat the process again. Simply put, she was bored out of her mind, and had she been kept restrained, she was certain she’d have died of boredom  _ long _ before the interrogator could get to her. Even now, her only source of entertainment was the small, bouncy object in her palm. 

 

Nonetheless, the young Nord’s razor focus did not tear her away from reality entirely. She became acutely aware of the intermittent pausing of the guard’s footsteps, just as they grew the loudest. Despite her curiosity, she kept her eyes away from the cell door--not that there was much luck of her catching a glimpse of her little ‘admirer’ either way. The darkness was suffocating. 

 

It was only when the dull thudding of the bouncy ball stopped amusing that she started berating herself,  _ “You’re smarter than this, Galina. You’ve talked your way into manor parties, you’ve cut down enough Altmer to string a half a soul together, why’d you  _ **_freeze up_ ** _?! You idiot. Look where you’ve got us now, some dark, musty cell throwing a toy at a wall.” _

 

She was inclined to continue, but the prolonged presence of the patrolling guard set her on alert. As if suddenly protective of the little rubber sphere she’d so passionately despised, she caught it for one last time and stilled, looking up at the cell door and, for the first time, allowing torchlight to illuminate her face.

 

Though the northern blood of the Nords ran warm in her veins, Galina’s features betrayed her birthright. Were it not for her cornflower-blue eyes and honey-blonde hair, one could be forgiven for mistaking her sharp, angular features for an--albeit deathly pale--Imperial. In the uncomfortable humidity brought on by a combination of the numerous fires crackling to ward off the colds of the Sea of Ghosts and the sweat of the other prisoners, her short-cropped hair stuck to her forehead.

 

The guard in question, the one who seemed so infatuated by her, stared through the bars, his features well-lit and easily discernable through the light of his torch. What she saw, though, surprised her. He was young; were he not an Altmer, Galina would have guessed only twenty-five. His features were clean, save only for the scruffy ‘beard’ that he maintained, which could be put to shame even by a Breton. Unmistakably new, his eyes lacked the cold indifference and cruelty that most seasoned Thalmor harbored behind their gazes. One could say he even looked...curious.

 

It took almost a minute for anyone to speak, and when the silence was finally broken, it was the Altmer who spoke first--in a blatant attempt to sound and look intimidating, “What is  _ that _ you are holding, human?” His face contorted into a halfhearted sneer, which looked rather amusing, “and -what- is that ruckus you are stirring with it?”

 

Galina had to hold back a laugh at his expression, something she had become quite adept at, “This?” She held up the ball, which fit near-perfectly in her black-wrapped hand. “It is a bouncing ball.” Once again, her disconnect from her own race reared its head, her accent clean and crisp, akin to that often heard in High Rock.

 

The guard seemed to be battling several emotions, all of which showed on his face; curiosity, confusion, and force. “A...bouncing ball? Wh-what, is it constructed from...from rat feces and mud?” He seemed to be struggling immensely to come up with insults. Why not have some fun with him.

 

“I...don’t think I want to tell you,” Galina’s tone was almost insufferably smug, “I think you’ll have to ask nicely.” 

 

Almost as if he wasn’t expecting this, the Altmer responded after a splutter, “We...how dare you insult a glorious uh...Altmer! And a Thalmor nonetheless! I command you to tell me what the ball is made of!”

 

“Ask nicely,” came the response.

 

“I will n--”

 

“Ask. Nicely.” Galina cut him off before he could demand anything else.

 

“I...uh…”

 

“Nicely.”

 

“Fine. Fine. Human...er,  _ filthy _ human, what is that ball made of? P...please?”

 

She’d been holding back a laugh the whole time he spoke, and was finally forced to let it out--albeit in a muted manner. It was not long before she got herself under control. “It is made of rubber.”

 

“Rubber? What is a...rubber?” Now more than ever, the guard seemed confused.

 

“Rubber...comes from rubber trees, very simple.”

 

“Rubber trees?! Hah! Preposterous! Why, I have never  _ heard _ such a blatant lie in all my time on Tamriel! Rubber trees...hmph.”

 

“You Altmer sure must be an absolute riot at galas.”

 

“We do not riot.”   
  
“That is not what I--”

 

“Silence! We do not riot. Do you understand?”

 

“I don’t think you g--”

 

“Do we riot?”

 

“No, you do not riot.” Galina resolved to simply answer his question with a resigned roll of her eyes.

 

“Now. Give me the ball.” The demand surprised her and she blinked rapidly, her trimmed eyelashes fluttering prettily. If she didn’t think otherwise, she could’ve sworn she noted a little red tint in the guard’s cheeks. “Give you the ball? Are you mad?”

 

“Give me the ball or I will...I will tell my superior that you made up rubber trees.”

 

“I didn’t make up rubber trees.”

 

“Oh just...give me the ball or I will get the interrogator!” 

 

That was a threat she simply couldn’t ignore. Better to bide her time, at the very least. She tossed the ball right through the cell doors, where it bounced off of the mer’s face, setting off an ensuing chase somewhere down the end of the cell block. 

 

Even as she lay her head down to sleep, she could still hear him scrambling around, trying to catch the ball.

 

_ Thump -- Thump _


	2. Cornflower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I finally...really did it. God damn me! God damn me to hell!
> 
> Don't get your hopes -too- high, though, I've been known to be a total dick and suddenly stop updating because I lost interest, but I'll try my damndest to post whenever an idea for another chapter pops into my head. Enjoy!

By time that Galina cracked her eyes open, she could hear hail pelting the masonry of the keep. At least she’d been incarcerated before being brained by golf-ball hail? Small mercies, Gali. Small mercies...hopeless optimism. Small hopeless optimism..s. Well, she was trying to distract herself.

Her breakfast had come early, it seemed, far before the other prisoners. Though, looking at the contents of the tray, perhaps that was more a curse than a blessing. A slice of bread that a piece of paper could rival in thickness, what looked like...mashed peas that had been thoroughly vomited in, and a pewter glass full of murky water that looked as if they’d scooped it out of their latrine. A meal fit for a king. A king of a swamp.

Regardless of how outright unappetizing--perhaps a better word to use would be inedible--the “meal” looked, Galina was starving, the rumbling in her stomach likely waking even the Captain of the fort. And so, with a great deal of hesitation, she flopped over onto her front and reached out for the food.

No sooner did her calloused fingers touch the bread, though, than the rusted, iron cell door swung inwards, clocking her across the jaw and sending her right back onto her...well, back. Through her double vision, she could see the robes of both the interrogat--oh, no, that was one mer. 

The ringing in her ears prevented the Nord from hearing much beyond muffled speech, though a language easily-communicable--brute force--was employed. Galina felt a hand clench around the collar of her tunic and pull her to her feet...where she promptly fell face-first onto the cobbled floor, learning quickly that she had trouble balancing after taking a steel door to the face.

A swift, spiteful kick to the ribs later and she was being dragged off. To where, she couldn’t see, as her face was busy dragging along the floor, though she could wager a guess. It wasn’t as if she weren’t expecting it, all the prisoners get a complimentary, overnight pass to the interrogator’s chambers. Complete with luxury amenities as fancy as iron shackles that were less rusted than the cell doors.

Only moments later she was propped up on her knees in the doorway, a gauntleted hand keeping her head from sagging. By now, the cloudiness of her vision had cleared and she could see clearly the various torture instruments, the blood splattered floor, and the various, admittedly impressive collection of skulls lined up on one of the shelves. 

The man she’d assumed was the interrogator stepped forward into the room, though a glance at the side of his face forced her to re-evaluate her assumption. What little she could see looked to be her original folly, the commander of the garrison. He looked...unimpressive, at best. Definitely not worth risking her life over, the man could probably have collapsed the fort himself if given enough time.

Galina’s observance was cut off by the sensation of something cold and metallic on her cheek, tearing her from her own mind and back to reality. Somehow, in her ruminations, she’d been moved from the doorway to the shackles, and was undergoing a partial disrobe at the hands of one of the guardsmen. A thought popped to mind, of the young mer she’d spotted yesterday. “Fucker has my ball…” Her mind spoke involuntarily, and luckily, not aloud. 

Once again, she was brought back to the present, missing her tunic, gloves, and boots, bare from the torso up save for her smallclothes. The Interrogator himself didn’t look like much on his own, but Galina knew better. His beard was long and gray, his skin sunken and his flesh leathery. And his eyes...his eyes were the coldest she’d laid eyes upon. What lay beneath them, what she could feel, chilled her deeper than the strongest gusts of Winterhold.

As he approached her, a simple fillet knife in hand. The wanderer’s blood chilled just a degree lower with each step he took closer to her, until she was shivering unknowingly. A sign of weakness she’d come to regret. 

It only took a moment for the interrogator to speak out, in an unnervingly calm and even voice, “Another human graces my wall. How...quaint. I always have the most fun with you Nords.” 

A witty retort brewed in her mind, assuredly scathing to the very core--if it hadn’t come out as a pitiful squeak. The laugh that followed was outright frightening, almost inhuman. In...elven? Something of the sort. “So, I hear-tell you thought it wise to attack this fort, little human. But I can tell, it is not for vengeance. I am curious...and I hate being curious. Tell me, why are you here?”

Simply put, the question terrified Galina. Not for fear of answering, but for fear of what would come of her if she told him outright. And so, in all her infinite wisdom and bravado, she spat at him. “G-go to hell.” Her voice was still embarrassingly wavering and high-pitched, though her message came across well enough.

“And this…” the Interrogator wiped the spit from his face with the back of his glove, “is why I love you Nords.” There was hardly a beat before he drove the blade into her shoulder, drawing a loud cry from her that travelled well beyond the chamber. “Try that again, Nord. Why are you here?”

“Heard you made some delicious pies.”

He dragged the dagger down her arm, staining her with her ghost-white skin with crimson, eliciting a scream, louder this time. “This could be much easier on you. Tell me, and I will stop.”

“Fuck...fuck you.” Her words seemed to resign the Interrogator, as if he could almost...sense her determination. The last thing she saw before her head was bashed against the stonework was a familiar, Altmeri face peeking around the doorframe.

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

Arkved had to shut his eyes as Hecerinde bashed the girl unconscious. The blood alone was enough to unnerve him, but that blow was enough to make him fear for her life. And he hated himself for it. Since the occurrence the previous night, the Nord--whatever her name was--remained on his mind. After he’d caught the so-called “rubber” ball, of course. Her eyes were stunning, nothing as he’d ever seen on any Merish woman. And her hair...so perfectly colored, something he could imagine running a hand through.

The Altmer mentally slapped himself. He was a Thalmor, an Altmer, a part of the masters of Tamriel, the lords of the humans! Thinking like he was, quite simply, was heresy. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her.

He was only vaguely aware of Hecerinde leaving him behind, though it seemed to register in his brain, snapping out of his daze quickly. Poor girl...he could smell the blood. See the blood, trickling down from the platform in the dark corner. There was a lot...he hoped she didn’t bleed out…

She was going to bleed out, wasn’t she?

Acting quickly, Arkved rushed to the table across from him, gathering up some of the cleaner rags, one of the ropes, and the whiskey Hecerinde kept on-hand at all times. The procedure was simple, something he was taught in basic training, but this was on another level. Someone depended on him. 

Thanking Auri-El that the woman was out cold, Arkved uncorked the whiskey with his teeth and poured it over her wounds. Though he hissed to think about the pain, he’d never really felt the sting of alcohol on an open wound. Except for that time he fell off his horse on Alinor and his mother had to disinfect it. So, in a way, he did understand. Right?

Digressing from his thoughts, he set the bottle down and tore the rags into strips, wrapping each wound carefully. Blood used to make him faint...it still made him dizzy, but he never passed out anymore, thanks to his training. Luckily, that training came in handy as he tied off each of the makeshift bandages. He still had a rope. For some reason. It was quickly discarded

Now safe, hopefully, Arkved sat back, looking at the girl he’d just so heroically saved. The human girl...he’d be reprimanded for sure, but he didn’t care. Even in this state, she looked lovely. Lovely and just within his reach...no, no, it was wrong. He couldn’t bare to touch her in this state, as much as his mind screamed for him to. He’d never forgive himself.

And so, he stood up, tucking his gauntlets into his satchel and approaching the alchemy/washing-up station in the corner. The fresh blood came off quickly, though he searched for a place to divert his attention as he poured the water onto his hands. And then he spotted it.

Hidden among the alchemy ingredients, behind a branch of canis root and a bit of scathecraw, a cornflower peeked out--almost the exact color of the Nord’s eyes. It had Bouncy Ball Girl written all over it.

Once sure the coast was clear, he plucked the flower from the shelf and made a hasty exit from the chamber, approaching Prisoner Number Something-Something’s cell, the one the woman had so recently occupied. With the tip of his boot, he pushed the unlocked and ajar door open, crouching down and tucking the flower into the corner, where he knew his relief wouldn’t spot it. 

Only sparing a moment’s smile, Arkved stood up, shut the door, and resumed his rounds, left to his own machinations.


	3. Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Souls managed to throw this chapter off, but here it is!

Galina awoke back in her cell, acutely aware of every single injury across her body. A dull, burning pain in her left arm, from her shoulder, down through her arm. Next, the throbbing, apocalyptic pain in the back of her head, which probably had something to do with her inability to remember what in Oblivion’s name had found her in this state. Luckily for her comfort, however, those seemed to be the extent of her wounds.

 

The woman barely had time to catch her bearings before a soft voice spoke from somewhere beyond the darkness, “You’re awake.”

 

For more than a few moments, she processed the words before realizing that she recognized the inflection of the voice, ever so slightly Altmer, with heavy Nordic influence. It was the guard she’d given the ball to. The only soul in the entire Keep that she figured wouldn’t beat her to a pulp if she breathed out of line.

 

Despite the feeling of comfort that came with the realization that she wasn’t about to be subjected to further torment, she kept her pale, chapped lips shut, and simply stared forward, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark. 

 

“You don’t have to respond, I und--I get that you...are probably far too...too primitive to um..to understand how to speak. Very much, that is. Or...yeah, that.”

 

If she didn’t think it’d send her into more pain than was necessary, Galina would’ve laughed. Not two sentences out of his mouth and he was already stuttering and screwing up. It would’ve been cute if he weren’t holding her captive.

 

“Me so sorry. Am no good at word thing.” She found herself able to mock him comfortably, she didn’t figure he’d beat her to death. Hopefully.

 

From the other side of the iron door, she could swear she heard a stifled laugh. “A--as I expected,” he finally spoke after he caught himself, “a m..mere primitive human. Hmph...you are not able to see, are you?” He seemed almost...concerned as he asked the question. Galina wrote it off as her ears playing tricks on her.

 

“Last I checked I wasn’t a Khajiit. Or a bat. So...no, I can’t see.”

 

There came no response other than a shuffling noise. Only moments later, a warm light shone through the bars and bathed her. She took stock of herself; bloody, shirtless, and dirty. A normal Fredas for her. “Yeah...yeah that’ll do it.”

 

“Good, I am very...glad that I can see you,” He seemed to pause for what  _ almost  _ became an uncomfortable span before continuing, “because I h..have yet to see a primate in captivity.” 

 

“You want me to start jumping around and flinging my shit?”

 

The guard’s face contorted into a grimace, “What?! How would...disgusting! Why in the name of  _ Auri-El  _ would you do that?!”   
  


“It was...it was a joke.”

 

“It sounds to me as a threat.”

 

“It sounds to me as if you need to pull that stick out of your ass.”

 

Perplexed, the guard stood up, the light shifting and casting several long shadows across the cell. He then proceeded to pat his rear with a gauntleted hand. “I do not feel anything.”

 

Now thoroughly entertained, Galina, buried her face in her good forearm, nearly shaking as she tried not to laugh. “Y...you...oh gods, you don’t…” She tried to splutter out words between silent laughs, but ultimately failed. Even when she thought that she’d calmed down enough, her eyes met the Altmer’s and the bewildered look sent her right back into a fit.

 

“Calm yourself! Have...are you sick? Hurt? Are you...you going to be of use to us?” Though the first two questions seemed genuinely  _ concerned  _ for her health, the last one, as most of his words and insults, seemed forced at best.

 

Finally, Galina calmed down, taking several deep breaths and looking back at him with steely determination not to break down again. “I’m just fine, I heard a funny joke last month and I just got it.”

 

The guard’s face looked relieved, though his words betrayed such, “Hah, so--typical of a human. How s-slow must you be, prisoner uh…” The prompt was fairly obvious, though she could not fathom why he simply didn’t check the prisoner logs.

  
“Galina Alkaev, and you are…” She returned the prompt, though far more obvious. Fair’s fair.

 

“A superior Altmer!”   
  
“That is not what I was asking.”

 

“But it is true!”

 

“It’s--” 

 

“Superior Altmer!”

 

“But what’s your  _ name _ ?” Galina was simultaneously at the end of her rope and having an utter blast.

 

“I am Superior Altmer, Dignified Arkved…” He seemed to mumble several words, as if he didn’t actually know them, “the Sublime Sentinel!” It also seemed that he tacked titles onto his name like they were bits of wood.

 

“So…” The Nord concentrated for a few moments, thinking that over. “You’re...a SADASS?” A wicked grin split her face as she made the connection--a connection which threw Arkved the Sadass right off.

 

With a splutter, he reeled back. “How...dare you call a glorious Thalmor a ‘Sadass’! Why, it is just...just...it...augh!” He cried in frustration and stormed away, taking the light with him. A small price to pay for such a big victory over the Thalmor.

Now that her watchman had gone, Galina shifted over and rolled onto the hay pile, just about to close her eyes when she spotted a dull, out-of-place splash of color in the corner. It was dark, but she could see well enough to make it out...to make out a cornflower. 

  
If she were caught with it, she’d receive a beating...but it prettied up the cell so. If Arkved hadn’t seen it, then it was probably safe from prying eyes. This realization putting her to rest, Galina rolled over onto her side and drifted into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
